The World

This morning I awoke with a vision of what could only be described as a new heavens and a new earth, a new state of consciousness or heaven that gives rise to a new pattern of manifestation or earth. I realize that in writing this I am not the first to experience this vision, but I am compelled to share it with you, to explain what I saw, in the hopes that you might see your life, your purpose, and the context in which it is set, in a new way.

To see things in a new way you must look at them from a new perspective. While looking for a way to explain this, I came across a remarkable poem by Henry Vaughan that points to some of the dominant patterns of being that have become normal in the world today. We recognize the plaintive lover, the contemptuous politician, the fearful miser, and the insatiable glutton. We also see the misguided do-gooder who longs for correctness, but lacks context.

In the course of the poem, Vaughan catches a glimpse—a vision—of the cosmic context in which we are set. This new perspective allowed him to see the strictures of a state of consciousness that clings to the idea that heaven and earth are separate and that heaven and God are far away.

All the seeming separations and divisions between heaven and earth, God and man, are a delusion which appears by reason of the evil imaginations of the hearts of men who have not begun to know truth as it is. I have much more to share on this topic, but for now I encourage you to spend a few minutes meditating on this beautiful poem.

Peace be unto you as you enjoy this perfect starting point for the emergence of new heavens, and a new earth.

The World

I saw Eternity the other night, 
Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 
All calm, as it was bright; 
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, 
Driv’n by the spheres 
Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world 
And all her train were hurl’d. 
The doting lover in his quaintest strain 
Did there complain; 
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 
Wit’s sour delights, 
With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, 
Yet his dear treasure 
All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour 
Upon a flow’r. 

The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe, 
Like a thick midnight-fog mov’d there so slow, 
He did not stay, nor go; 
Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl 
Upon his soul, 
And clouds of crying witnesses without 
Pursued him with one shout. 
Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his ways be found, 
Work’d under ground, 
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see 
That policy; 
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries 
Were gnats and flies; 
It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he 
Drank them as free. 

The fearful miser on a heap of rust 
Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust 
His own hands with the dust, 
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives 
In fear of thieves; 
Thousands there were as frantic as himself, 
And hugg’d each one his pelf; 
The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense, 
And scorn’d pretence, 
While others, slipp’d into a wide excess, 
Said little less; 
The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave, 
Who think them brave; 
And poor despised Truth sate counting by 
Their victory. 

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, 
And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring; 
But most would use no wing. 
O fools (said I) thus to prefer dark night 
Before true light, 
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 
Because it shews the way, 
The way, which from this dead and dark abode 
Leads up to God, 
A way where you might tread the sun, and be 
More bright than he. 
But as I did their madness so discuss 
One whisper’d thus, 
“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, 
But for his bride.”

Photo by Louis Maniquet on Unsplash

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